Dance With the Devil
by the.goal.is.greatness
Summary: Destined to love one another, fated to kill one another. [Naraku x Kagome]


**Title:** Dance with the Devil  
**Genre:** Romance / Drama  
**Rating:** M  
**Pairing:** Naraku x Kagome  
**Spoilers:** N/A  
**Summary:** Destined to love one another, fated to kill one another.  
**Word Count:** 2,047  
**Warnings:** light torture, song!fic

**Disclaimer:** _Inuyasha_ belongs to Rumiko Takahashi. Summary is a tagline from a movie, but I can't for the life of me remember what. Title is a song by Breaking Benjamin, of which I utilize a few lyrics.

**A/N:** This doesn't work at all. Not only did I (for sure) miss some episodes towards the end, I haven't seen _or_ read _Inuyasha_ in like, a decade. Sorry, a thousand apologies. It's just I heard the quote and this is what I thought of, so I don't know.

* * *

_Trembling, crawling across my skin  
__Feeling your cold dead eyes  
__Stealing the life of mine_

* * *

She kept telling herself that this was not supposed to happen. She said it to herself over and over and over, a mantra inside her skull, a prayer that she whispered to herself to make it seem like this was all fate, like this was not a choice she had made. Like this was not a _series_ of choices she had made that had led her here.

_Here_ was rustling sheets in the dark when she should have been collecting firewood. _Here_ was sharp nails pricking crescent moon nicks into her shoulders, her breasts, her thighs, when she should have been sleeping beside a fire with her friends. _Here_ was red eyes and a scarlet mouth in the darkness, when her friends thought she had been kidnapped. It was teeth and pain and pulling hair and arching spine, when they were out searching for her.

The first time she had seen red eyes watching her in the darkness as she looked for sticks, she had screamed loud enough to wake the dead. But, though Inuyasha searched and searched, there was nothing there. Then it happened again and again and again. And then he refused to see what she was screaming about anymore.

And the eyes stayed and lingered and watched her. It was terrifying and unnerving and…

… and exciting.

She felt daring and wanton.

But one night a hand covered her mouth and those eyes at a face and it was Naraku and she couldn't scream, she couldn't _breathe_ and this was the moment she was going to die and why wasn't he killing her –

He was watching her, frown lines creasing his forehead, eyes darting over her face like he was looking at a puzzle. She struggled to draw in a breath, but his hand was covering her nose and her mouth. Her lungs were burning; she felt faint. She made a feeble attempt to struggle away, but he pressed her down and she felt a hardness pressing into her stomach that made her eyes widen and her knees tremble. This was not what was supposed to happen. Was he really going to – to –

\- and he was gone.

But she felt those eyes on her most nights more often than not and what could she tell the others? That Naraku watched her at night and that he wanted to – wanted to – she didn't know. No one could sense him. Inuyasha would call her crazy. The others wouldn't, but their eyes would say it. They would say she needed to visit Kaede or her home, and relax. But she would know what (who) was watching her in the dark.

The feeling of being watched never went away and there must be something wrong with her to start to crave that attention. She saw the tenderness in Miroku's eyes when he looked at Sango. She knew that Ayame was the princess to Koga's prince, no matter how much in love with her he claimed to be. And Inuyasha… Inuyasha was in love with a dead woman. There was no coming between them. How could there be? _Death_ couldn't come between them. Did she really think her big, doe eyes and schoolgirl uniform was going to do it?

But, for some reason, something about her made Naraku watch her night after night. _Her._ She could _feel_ the eyes even she couldn't see them. They made her… they made her feel…

She didn't know what it was. It made her breasts ache. It made her lower stomach clench and a heat pool between her legs. No matter how she pressed them together the feeling wouldn't go away only grow and grow until it was almost unbearable. She felt phantom touches against her in her dreams, pinpricks of sensation that made her wake with the feeling of emptiness, the feeling of _something_ just out of reach.

Weeks pass, and the dance continues. She's being watched as she sleeps, as she bathes. She tantalizes her watcher on the nights Inuyasha is off chasing his dead priestess – fleeting touches as she washes against the hardened stubs of her nipples, long languid swipes down her thighs. Inviting. Provocative.

Until another night, like that night so many nights ago, a swift movement in the brush, a hand covering her mouth, her nose, breathing; a hard body pressed against her. But this time she is slick from the stream, with only a towel separating her from the hardness of the man in front of her. His eyes are piercing through her and she's been teasing him (and herself) for the past thirty minutes so she's already shuddering. Her breath is already starting to hitch in her throat when he yanks away the towel and even she doesn't know if it's from anticipation or suffocation.

The hand not covering her mouth reaches down to grab her thigh, nails digging uncaringly into the flesh until she bleeds. It makes her hitch in another tiny breath, a tiny sliver of oxygen, as that leg is hoisted up and out. She only has a moment to feel exposed and open before he's pressing closer, sliding his hot length inside her with a jerk that makes her eyes roll, that makes her gasp in the last bit of breath she has. It _hurts_.

It hurts and from the slick slide of him she knows she is bleeding and she can't _breathe_ and – and – Oh god that feeling in her gut is coming back, coiling tighter and tighter with each harsh slam of him against her, in her. Her back is scraping against the bark and his nails are digging into her thigh and she's pinned by this manhood like a butterfly on a board and she still can't breathe and each sensation is building and building and building and oh god it hurts, she needs air, needs – needs –

"_Unngghhhh_…"

The moan that shudders out of her is as ragged as a death cry and it makes her vision pinprick with white lights. It's like an uncoiling of every tense muscle she's ever had all at once, shuddering through her like wave after wave. It makes her legs shake, her toes curl, her eyes roll back as the feeling continues…

… and then the loss of air is too much and she blacks out.

* * *

It's a wonder none of the group stumbles upon her, naked and bleeding and disheveled, but they don't. When she wakes, Naraku is gone, and her body aches and shivers with memory. It is wrong – so wrong – but she wants that again. Wants more.

So she lingers in the forest, gathering wood and or bathing. She gets lost, called away by wayward jewel shard. She says she's going home, but she doesn't. She seeks out instances where she will be alone, far away from others. So they don't know, can never find out. What it is she does whenever she can. What it is that makes her body sing and her core quiver.

She can't help it that the very thought of nails digging into her hips and buttocks as they pull her backwards, of a hand curled in her hair so tight it aches for days afterwards, pulling her backwards to arch her spine unnaturally, so sharp teeth can bite at her delicate throat, all make her tremble in anticipation of what is about to come. Just the thought is almost enough to tip her over the edge, makes her fingers twitch to slide themselves between her damp and aching folds for some sort of relief. It makes her press her thighs together to fill the emptiness and when that doesn't work she keens as she spreads them wide: inviting, alluring, begging.

Please, please, _please_…

She wants more, _needs_ more. Needs –

Naraku presses her shoulders down, presses her face into the mattress, leaving her hips arched high, and she already moaning when he slides inside her with a thrust that is hard enough to make the bed slide forward. Every inhale she takes is full of sheets, barely enough air to keep her conscious, and every exhale is a high, piercing cry that builds higher and higher as the thrusting continues.

Everything is a flash of sensation that is almost too much. There is one hand curled at the base of her throat, with a white-knuckled grip in her long, dark hair. The grip is pulling back her neck harshly but still pushing her shoulders down, down into the bed. The angle isn't natural and her throat hurts and her shoulders hurt and her spine hurts. But still she's trying to arch backwards into the motion, still needing more, still needing _something_…

There's a ragged groan from above her and Naraku goes stiff and still as he spills himself inside her. She's keening and almost tearful as she tries to shift backwards, to make him move, to make something happen. But he slides out of her, sending trickling trails of liquid sliding down her buttocks and thighs. He lets go of her unceremoniously and she sobs.

_No, no, please, please… I need…_ Kagome reaches down with one still hand to brush against her trembling core. _So close… please… oh, god…_ At the first brush of her own fingers, she gasps. And the sensation is so good it makes her cant her hips down over and over against so she can rock against her own hand. _Yes, yes…_

The feeling builds and build and builds and she's so close, almost there – but then she's grabbed in rough hands and flipped over and her hand slides out of herself and the feeling makes another hitching sob fall out of her lips. _Please…_ There's red eyes staring down at her impassively and she arches against him, inviting, please, please. He doesn't move, just stares at her and it's killing her. She presses her thighs together, opens them, presses them together again. When she tries to reach down with her hand again, her wrists are grabbed and held. _No_, _please, please…_

He's watching her so impassively that she's sure that he's going to leave her like this, like he's done before, soiled and aching and empty and crying. But with an imperceptible shift of thought, one of her wrists is released and his own hand slides down between her legs. He's not as gentle as she was with herself, and maybe that's why she can never find her own release without him. His nails are like daggers, the motion fast and jerking.

But she's moaning with every motion, her hand reaching down to grab his wrist and urge him on, her hips moving up faster and faster and faster until – until –

And it is only him that makes her this shameless and sadistic mess. Maybe the jewel shards make them drawn irrevocably to one another. Maybe it is something as cosmic as yin and yang or as mundane as acting out. She doesn't know. She just knows that no one will ever be this. This evil, this vile. But that no one will ever feel her with this much want, this much craving and need.

The feeling in her grows and grows, as tight as a bow. He slides his fingers into her as he watches her silently, harsher and harsher until –

\- until she shatters.

* * *

_Say goodbye, as we dance with the devil tonight  
__Don't you dare look him in the eye  
__As we dance with the devil tonight…_


End file.
